Pursuit of the Winter Soldier
by HowlynMad
Summary: "I care about you. And you care about him. He's still racking up a body count. Can't say as I blame him. But think about this, he didn't have a choice before but he does now and he's choosing to kill. How long do you think it will be before he gets a taste for it? He needs help now before that happens because once he decides he likes it, you'll never get him back. BUCKY ANGST, WUMP
1. Chapter 1

The Winter Soldier pulled his coat tighter around himself. The sky was overcast and it had been drizzling icy rain all day. He was deep in the old Soviet Block. He'd spent a lot of time with the Russians and felt quite comfortable in the frigid mountains of Eastern Europe. He and the cold were old friends now.

It hadn't always been that way. There was a time when the darkness closed around him and his veins filled with ice, he'd been so scared, so scared of the cold. The cryo-tube was a simple design. You put someone inside and it flash-froze the occupant for later reanimation. The full process took two minutes, two excruciating minutes… because your brain was usually the last thing to shut down.

He'd learned quickly not to scream because his mouth would freeze open and the cold would pour down his throat and into his lungs, stopping his breath. His heart would thunder in his chest for a few seconds, trying to inflate them but by then his blood was freezing in his veins and every inch of him felt like he was on fire. The techs had nicknamed the device, "The Tomb". It was apt because he felt like he was dying every single time. After awhile, when he had started to welcome death, he gained an appreciation for the cryo-tube. The cold had become a welcome respite.

He looked right then left as he crossed the narrow lane. It was early. There were few people out and about in the sleepy little hamlet. He really shouldn't be here. What he was doing was reckless and stupid. It was also his choice and that's exactly why he was doing it. The Winter Soldier was stepping outside the perimeters of permissible behavior and he knew it. His stomach turned at the thought. He knew what the punishment for breaking protocols was, he'd suffered through it twice. There wasn't a third time.

Every step he took made the voice in his head scream at him to contact his controller at once. He ignored it as best he could. Something inside him had broken on that carrier over the Potomac. He wasn't entirely sure what it all meant but he thought, he prayed, that there was something different about him now. That maybe, at one time, he had been a person, a man, instead of a weapon. Whatever it was, whoever he was, he wasn't going back to his masters. They would have to kill him this time. He wouldn't submit. A face flashed in his memory, a younger version of the man on the carrier. _Your name is James Buchanan Barnes._

As he approached his destination, he put his head down and pulled his gloved hands free of his pockets. As he opened the door of the café, he murmured, "My designation is Asset Seventeen." He stopped just inside the doorway to stamp his feet on the provided mat. He put his hands up to his mouth and pretended to blow so he could gain an extra few seconds to scan the room.

The room was large and open. It was a modern café design with tables around the perimeter as well as small ledges where people were standing, sipping their beverages and using wi-fi. He assessed the room for exit points and the people for possible threats.

There were currently fifteen people spread out within the space. Not optimal, he could be caught in a cross fire. However, the openness of the space mitigated some of the risk as he had several ways to move. Satisfied and knowing that he couldn't stay at the door without drawing unwanted attention, he decided he was going ahead with his plan.

There were two people ahead of him in line which suited him fine because he could covertly keep an eye on the people around him. There were two people to his left at two o'clock and four people to left at five o'clock. Four more to his right at one…

"May I help you, Sir? Sir?"

His attention snapped forward when he realized that the girl was addressing him. The old man had stepped down to the other end of the counter to wait for his beverage. "Yes," he responded in perfect Russian. "I would like hot chocolate. Thank you." He held out a couple of Euros.

"Would you like whipped cream?" the girl asked with a smile.

Another at his six… he put the bills on the counter and stepped to the side behind the old man. Did he like whipped cream? He thought he did but he couldn't think about that right now or he'd be too nauseous to get the drink down.

The girl looked at him oddly but scooped the bills off the counter with a shrug. "Thank you."

There was something about the man to his left and six.

"Your hot chocolate, Sir." A young man presented him with a steaming paper cup and was gone before he could even say thank you.

He walked slowly over to a ledge where he could face the door and most of the patrons. He held the cup up and inhaled. The smell of chocolate surrounded him and suddenly he was a child running down the street with a skinny little blonde boy calling after him to wait up. It was like a slap to the face. It was a memory. He hated memories. When he started to remember things, it meant it was time for a _wipe_. A wipe being a euphemism for lobotomizing him.

Hydra found out early-on that he had enhanced healing abilities to go along with the rest of it. It wasn't anything miraculous. He could be hurt, he could be killed, same as anyone. It just took a bit more effort. His bones could still break, his skin could still burn but when he healed, his bones mended without a trace of injury, his burns, without scarring.

He knew they had done terrible things to him when they had found out. Thankfully, he never really remembered the specifics. But he did remember what Zola had told him. He always remembered Zola, they made sure of that. He remembered the gleeful little man leaning over him, telling him that his healing ability was going to save his life. Hydra wouldn't have to terminate him after all. They were going to give him a new identity. That he didn't need to fight anymore. How long ago had that been? He didn't know but it seemed like life times.

Asset Seventeen pressed his thumb and finger to his eyes. Depending on the extent of his recovered memories, they used varying levels of high voltage to clear his mind. Once, it had taken him two months to recover from being wiped. He couldn't even walk when they had finished with him. Whatever he had done wrong that time, Hydra had been very unhappy with him.

He'd had to relearn almost everything. That had irritated his controllers even more, it hadn't been a pleasant two months for him. But the device that striped away knowledge could also be used to implant new knowledge. They had spent his downtime re-educating him with highly specialized training like piloting several types of aircraft, fluency in five languages, and the latest computer technologies. Unfortunately, having knowledge inputted was only slightly less painful than having it stripped.

The Winter Soldier pushed the errant memories down. While rationally he understood that there would be no more mind wipes, no more punishments now that he was on his own, his conditioning was still telling him otherwise. He was getting a headache. He needed to just drink his chocolate and get the hell out before someone spotted him. He looked over at the man at his six and cocked his head.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Jesus H Christ on a crutch. Hawkeye nearly dropped his coffee when he looked up and saw who had just walked in the door, big as life. He heard Nat's voice in his head, _Smooth move. Just wave at the Hydra trained super assassin with the Vibranium arm, why don't you._ He turned slightly away from the figure and waited for him to walk up to the counter.

The Archer glanced up at the picture windows and was pleased to note that he was able to see Barnes in the glass. He took another sip of his coffee before he casually reached in his pocket for his phone. It was fucking Christmas. They hadn't even been looking for Barnes in this area. The only reason he was even here right now was because he had skidded-out on some ice. A local Samaritan had driven him into this town. He had a few hours to wait for Nat to swing by and pick him up, so here he was… and here was the Winter Soldier.

Hawkeye took another drink and glanced at the glass. Barnes' back was to him so he casually turned and checked him over. He was wearing a knee length coat, more than enough length to conceal a long gun. Barnes would prefer an automatic, likely an Uzi. He would also have a hand gun, perhaps in his right pocket. He'd seen footage of his street fight with Steve. He liked knives so you could bet there would be a few concealed here and there. The archer looked around the room. This was not a good scenario.

There was a click and Nat's voice, "I am not stopping to get you a croissant."

"Who's with you?" Hawkeye took another sip and glanced up at the window. Barnes had taken his drink to a ledge at the back. He was not so casually scanning the room.

Nat instantly recognized the tone and turned all business, "It's just me. Rogers and Wilson are about twenty miles east. What's your sitrep?"

"I am sipping coffee in a café… about twenty feet from a man with a metal arm doing the same."

"Holy shit. I'm getting Rogers on the line. How does it look?"

"Not good. We've got a room full of civvies and he's armed. No pun intended."

"Hold the line." There was a pause. "Falcon is bringing them in, ETA four minutes. Steve says sit tight and don't agitate the situation."

Hawkeye pulled the phone away from his mouth. "Don't agitate the situation? Is he out of his mind?" He spoke back into the phone, "Let's just hope our confused friend doesn't decide to agitate it. This place will turn into casualty central. Might be better if I just pull back entirely, wait until he decides to leave. I can watch the front," he rolled his neck side to side so he could look over shoulder.

"I agree with Rogers. If we lose this chance we might not get another. We need to keep eyes on him."

"Uh huh. Well, I'm on board with the plan but I'm telling you if this goes South, its going all the way to Meh-hee-co."

"Understood. I'm two minutes out. We should converge about the same time."

Hawkeye sat his phone down and took another sip. The coffee was suddenly bitter. He liked to think that while he didn't have any enhancements that his finely attuned sense of when a situation was going to go to shit was just as legitimate as a superpower. And right now, it was telling him he was in deep doodoo.


	2. Chapter 2

The Winter Soldier put his hot chocolate down on the table without taking even a sip. The man at his six was military and had been unobtrusively observing him through the large front windows of the café. Unfortunately, not unobtrusively enough. The target looked familiar to him but his memory was so unreliable for all he knew the man could be one of his ex-handlers. A small unpleasant smile touched his lips. He'd once punched a hole straight through one of his handler's chest. He wouldn't mind doing it again.

Something occurred to him and he swallowed a lump in his throat. What if he was a Controller? Handlers could be any of the people that dealt with him on a daily basis but their authority over him was always very limited. His Controller, however, had power absolute. What if that's why they were here? The Asset's heart revved up. After Pierce died, the control device he wore would have been passed to another. How could he have not considered that? That person would need only to imprint himself as his new Controller and he would have no choice but to obey. No choice. He would hear the tones that burned into his mind and he would see the calming light then every bit of his new found self-will would dissolve. He would dissolve. This new self would be taken away from him. He looked at the now tepid cup of chocolate. Before he even got the chance to explore what it all meant. They would take it away. Like hell.

The Asset's eyes turned colder than the Arctic Sea. His gaze swept the room in a heartbeat and assessed possibilities. This was going to get messy. It would alert authorities and thereby alert Hydra to where he was. Even if he escaped from here, they would most likely run him down. He had nowhere to go. He looked over at the target. He wasn't going back. There were only two choices left to him, freedom or death. He'd made his peace with that already.

He turned slightly to the right, away from the man watching him. He wrapped his hand around the Glock in his pocket. Unconsciously, he flexed his left arm, the bands of Vibranium shifting and settling with a soft clinking whir. A woman near him looked up from her phone curiously but immediately went back to texting.

The door to the café opened and a woman wearing a deep blue coat entered. She had a scarf wrapped high around her neck concealing the lower part of her face much like his muzzle did and her hands were deep in her pockets. She walked straight to the counter without looking around. She walked like a predator and he should know. They were closing in on him.

His eyes narrowed. The full auto machine pistol was strapped against his lower back where he could reach around and grab it. The coat he wore would only slow its access by a few seconds. The woman had walked to the other end of the counter. They were flanking him. His eyes darted around the room waiting for the opportunity.

The door opened again and a tall lanky black man entered. Now _that_ man he remembered. He was at the battle on the Potomac. …But he hadn't been Hydra. He'd been helping the other one. The one that kept calling him a name, a name he didn't want to know. The one that had called him, "friend". He had pulled that one, Captain America from the frigid waters. He wasn't even sure why. The things he'd seen at the museum didn't make much sense either. He wasn't that man. He'd never laughed once in his whole life. Obviously, Rogers had made a mistake. Now they were going to try and fix that mistake. Too bad for them.

There was a small pop, splat, followed by the loud, fast, scraping of a stool against the floor as one of the patron's dropped their cup of presumably hot liquid. It was just the distraction that he needed.

The Winter Soldier pulled his gun and pushed off from the table ledge. He was half way to the door before the woman even yelled to sound the alarm. The man sitting at the table turned and dove. Not fast enough. He put two slugs in the center of his chest and never stopped moving. He barreled into the door and it exploded outward with the force. Pieces of wood and glass flew like shrapnel. It wasn't Hydra. Still he didn't slow down. He might actually have a way out of this after all.

He headed towards the bridge that led out of town. If he could reach the woods, he was as good as gone. He could survive the cold, dig in and hide. He just needed the cover of the trees. Moving faster than any human or animal could match, his legs pistoned. His mind racing nearly as fast, he was forgetting something. He glanced over his shoulder. Where was the soldier?

Something barreled into him like a freight train.

o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o

Natasha yelled too late. In the few seconds that her eyes had cut to the other side of the room, her target was almost to the door. He was scarily fast. She ran forward to get a clear shot with the stun gun just as she saw his gun come up. She could see Wilson from the corner of her eye grabbing people and literally throwing them to the ground out of the line of fire. She was too slow… and so was Barton. She saw him take the impact right in the chest.

She ran straight up to where he lay, "Oh god, please, please, please." She grabbed him, rolled him over, and tore open his shirt. There were two high powered slugs, half inch apart right over his heart… They were flattened against the Kevlar. "Thank God," she breathed.

Barton moaned, "Fucking high powered ammo. Hurts something awful."

Nat smiled, "Just be glad you got the upgraded vest. That shit could have done some real damage." She looked around at the people shouting and crying, huddled on the floor. Steve needed to see reason about her solution to their assassin problem. This couldn't happen again.

"I'm just glad he didn't aim for my head."

Sam knelt down, "We need to get out of here… right now." He grabbed Barton by the arm and pulled him up. "You mobile?"

"Yeah, I'm good enough. Let's get out of here."

Natasha looked at Sam. "You need to talk to him again. He needs to take the solution I offered." They quickly pulled Barton through the doorless doorway towards a car parked half a block down. "He's not going to come quietly."

"You're preaching to the choir, sister," Sam agreed. "I've been telling him this ain't gonna end well. Steve isn't exactly flexible when it comes to Barnes. Let's hope this is the end of the line for the Winter Soldier."

Nat jumped into the driver's seat, "Let's get back to the plane and get him some air support."

o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x

The Asset was knocked off his feet going nearly forty miles an hour. The American would have to do better than that to stop him, he thought. As he skidded through the slush, he rolled with the momentum and came up, pulling his auto free. He was on his feet before he'd even come to a stop. He turned just in time to see Captain America's shield coming right at his chest. He threw his arm out to knock the shield to the side but it clipped his auto as it went, tearing the weapon from his grasp. He looked up and scowled.

This was the first time that he'd seen Bucky since the Potomac fight. The first time they'd gotten this close. The encounter wasn't turning out exactly as he'd hoped. In fact, it was turning into a nightmare. He'd heard the shots. Nat was quick to radio that everyone was good but that didn't change the fact that Bucky had just opened fire in a public place with no regard for life. In fact, with the intent to take lives.

After Bucky had spared him on the helicarrier, he'd hoped that he'd reached his friend. Then after the police found Russian military boot prints coming out of the water next to where they'd found him, he knew that Bucky had been the one to save him from drowning. He'd thought that it meant Bucky was recovering. He'd even been to the memorial at the museum. But then he took a moment and thought about it. Bucky was as close to him as any brother by blood could be but he'd spent seventy years as a prisoner of war, tortured and brainwashed. One fleeting moment of recognition wasn't about to wipe all that away. They were in for a long, hard road to recovery. So be it. You don't give up on family.

Steve looked his former best friend and confused enemy over. He looked tired and scared though most people would probably say he looked pissed off and scary. Steve raised his hands in surrender. It had worked before. "You know you don't have to fight me. I'm not here to hurt you." He looked quickly around, they needed to get out of here. "Listen, we need to get far away from here. Nat has the jet. Come with me. I'll take you somewhere safe."

The Winter Soldier cocked his head like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I'm good, thanks."

He took a few steps forward. He could see Bucky tense. "We don't have much time. Please. I'm your friend, Buck. I want to help you. I swear, I just want to take you somewhere to talk. Just you and me. No SHIELD, no Hydra, no police, no doctors." The doctors would come later. After he was sure his friend wouldn't kill them. "Whada ya say?"

Buck stepped toward him, shaking his head slowly. Steve was wary and set his stance in case the man tried to jump him. Bucky reached up and put his hand to his head, smoothing back his long hair. His hand drew down the back of his head to his neck. "I say, if you try to take me… you'll end up with a corpse. Yours or mine. It doesn't really matter which to me."

There was a click and Steve looked down at his hand. Grenade. Dear God, what else did he have in that coat? Steve dove sideways as the explosive left the Winter Soldier's hand. The man turned and was half way across the bridge when it detonated. Steve was on his feet, shield in hand, and in pursuit before the dust even settled.


	3. Chapter 3

WARNING: VIOLENCE, POTENTIAL TRIGGERS

They were moving through the woods like a couple of two legged gazelle, Nat thought as she watched the thermal camera tracing the two men below. It was kind of amazing actually. The jet's sensors had picked up the explosion and they'd followed their heat signatures into the woods. The trees made it difficult and she kept losing them but Barton wasn't called Hawkeye for nothing.

"Would you look at that?" he marveled as the two men jumped a thirty foot ravine and didn't even slow. "Man, they are closely matched. This could go on for awhile."

Sam stepped up to the cockpit, "Anything we can do to fix the race?"

"Guys we got a problem," Nat pointed to another sensor.

"What is that?" Sam queried.

"That is a military plane and it's headed right towards us." They all looked at each other. "We can't stay here." she flicked a couple of switches. "Steve, we have a bogie coming at us. Won't be able to point you in the right direction."

"10/4," was their only response.

Nat pulled up yet another display. Barton stood behind her and pointed, "There."

"Hey Steve, how about we slow him down for you before we go? You've got a narrow clearing coming up. It's enough room for me to get off a safe shot. Say at the half way point? Be our only chance."

"You saying, you don't think I can catch him," came the _only slightly_ out of breath reply.

"Well, you are the elder," Nat quipped. "Wouldn't want you to stroke out down there."

"Just do it and clear out."

"Good luck." Natasha pulled the jet into a turn. "And Steve, I know how much you want this but be careful. He's not who you remember." She threw a couple of switches then watched a set of red cross hairs align. She hit a button. "Delivered." The plane turned away.

o-x-o-x-o-x-o-x-o

Asset Seventeen could hear the American still close on his tail. This was getting tiresome in more ways than one. How long could they keep this up, he wondered. From what he knew of his enhanced metabolism, it would come down to which of them was better fed and rested than the other. Hydra had often starved him to weaken his strength and slow his speed. It worked to a degree. He suspected it would be his opponent that had the upper hand. While he wasn't starving, he hadn't exactly been eating regularly either. He needed to do something else.

There were two crossed trees coming up. Instead of going around them, he pitched headlong through them and grabbed a bough as he went by, snapping it back hard. It wouldn't hurt the soldier but…

"Damn it, Bucky!"

He smiled. He wasn't even sure why. This was all vaguely familiar. And that disturbed him. "Wait up, Buck! Don't run so fast." Laughter. "I don't feel so good." Coughing. "You go to sleep, Stevie. Things will be better tomorrow."

With his concentration split, the Winter Soldier was nearly half way into the open before he realized he'd put himself in a vulnerable position. The Captain had said there was a jet. Son of a bitch. He heard the tell tale whine of a missile as it arced towards him. This was what he got for breaking protocols, for wanting to be something other than what he was, for wanting a damn cup of hot chocolate. Still. The smile returned. There were far worse ways he could go. He knew most of them intimately. At least this would be quick.

The missile struck about a hundred yards in front of him. Gouging a hole in the earth and throwing a mound of debris in his face. Covered in dirt, he couldn't see so the Asset just jumped and hoped that he cleared whatever crater the impact had made. He came down less than gracefully but he had managed to put himself in the clear. He quickly turned, expecting the American to have caught up but he could see no one through the dust cloud. You made your own luck and he wasn't about to question it. The Winter Soldier fled.

o-x-o-xo-ox-ox-ox-ox

"No, no, no! This isn't happening!" Steve stood up and grasped the tree limb that was protruding from his calf. The missile had landed perfectly. He was within grabbing distance of his quarry when a piece of shrapnel nailed him. There weren't even any trees! It was a clearing for Pete's sake! He limped forward to find a place to sit down so he could take care of it.

He'd seen Bucky's reckless jump. He could have been seriously hurt… or he could have killed some innocent civilian back at the café. He'd meant to kill Barton. And it would be his fault not Bucky's. But what choice did he have? Bucky had done horrible things and most people wouldn't see beyond that. It hadn't been his fault but he would be punished none the less. He needed help not punishment. He realized that at some point Bucky would have to come forward to face what he had done. To tell his side and ask for redemption but he couldn't even do that as he was currently. He would kill… or be killed. That was all he understood.

Every time he saw Bucky now, he wanted to grieve for his friend all over again. He took a deep breath and pulled. The branch came free none too gently and he groaned. He was hobbled and had no air support. His quarry was in the wind and there would likely be others following soon. And when their descriptions got out, Hydra would come for Bucky. Maybe Natasha was right.

 _Fade to Flashback..._

 _"There's always a trigger. If we have it then we have control. Rumlow would know where to look. "_

 _"I know you're not suggesting that I go to Rumlow so that I can learn how to be Bucky's puppetmaster. Because you, of all people, know how despicable that would be."_

 _"It's better your leash than Hydra's."_

 _"Ok, you know what, we're done."_

 _"Steve, I know how it must sound but we have an unstable super assassin on the loose and the longer he's out there the more likely he is to rack up casualties."_

 _"There's hasn't been anyone but Hydra. I think that speaks to his state of mind. If they want to turn themselves in, I'll guarantee them protection against Bucky but if not… my sympathy for them isn't really high right now."_

 _"So you're ok with him killing thirty seven Hydra agents in the time he's been on his own?_

 _"They came after him and besides since when do you care about Hydra agents?"_

 _"I don't. I care about you. And you care about him. He's still racking up a body count that he's going to have to deal with someday. Maybe it's not issue for him… or for you. Can't say as I blame him. But think about this, he didn't have a choice before but he does now and he's choosing to kill. How long do you think it will be before he gets a taste for it? He needs help now before that happens because once he decides he likes it, you'll never get him back."_

 _It felt like he'd just been punched in the gut. That wouldn't happen. Bucky would never… but the Winter Soldier might. "I couldn't do that to him. I just…"_

 _"You don't have to do anything. We proceed as we have been. All I'm saying is that we have the trigger just in case. A last resort kind of thing. That's all."_

 _He stared at the floor, unable to meet her eyes and nodded._

 _o-x-o-x-o-x-ox-o-x_

 _The former Strike Commander and Hydra officer sat in chains in the middle of a small white room. A mirrored one-way glass was the only feature besides the security camera. He was lucky to be alive though he didn't look it. His skin was mottled and puckered, courtesy of hot jet fuel from the carrier. It took them more than twenty hours to dig him free. It hadn't been a priority._

 _Steve, Natasha, and Clint stood looking through the one way glass. "How do we want to handle this?" Hawkeye queried. "Nat and I can…"_

 _Steve's expression tightened. "No. Bucky is my responsibility. I'll do this. Hydra declared war then they took prisoners and tortured them. I won't torture anyone but I'm not above beating the crap out of one of them in this situation."_

 _Rumlow turned at their entry, a slow smirk appearing on his mutilated face. "Well, well, look who's come to visit. It's Captain America himself." The bound man gave him a slow clap._

 _Nat and Clint took stations next to the door as Cap stepped forward. "I have a question and you're going to answer it."_

 _"Is that right?" he responded smugly. Rumlow gestured as expansively as the chains would allow. "And what could Captain America want from me, I wonder."_

 _"I want to know what Bucky's trigger is."_

 _"Whoa, ho, ho. Did "your" Bucky misbehave? Run home like a good little pet monster?"_

 _Steve smiled tightly, "Actually, no. But apparently someone thought it was a good idea to send a retrieval team for him. …Not so much. There wasn't much left by the time we got there. I don't think Bucky's interested in working for Hydra anymore."_

 _Rumlow leaned back in his chair, "Huh. Well. It's not the first time that he's bit the hand that keeps him on a leash. Your friend is hard headed. You would think after the last time he was reeducated…," Rumlow inhaled sharply and cringed, "Yikes."_

 _Steve clenched his hands. It was all he could do not to put his fist through the man's teeth._

 _Nat stepped forward and crossed her arms, "He asked you a question. I suggest you answer. Now. While you're still able."_

 _A slow smile played on Rumlow's lips, "Did you know that he remembered you…briefly?"_

 _Steve opened his mouth to repeat the question but his voice died in his throat. Oh, god._

 _Rumlow kept his eyes glued to him. "After that day on the bridge. He couldn't figure it out but he remembered your face from back in the old days. Said something about a train? You were trying to save him then too, apparently. Honestly, as many times as we've fried his brain, I'm surprised he can do anything more than drool on his shirt but you "super soldiers" are tough sons of a bitches… I'll give you that." Rumlow licked his scarred lips, "You want to know how he screams when we insert electrodes and…"_

 _Steve hit him hard enough that he flew sideways off the chair and skidded across the floor. Steve was across the room in an instant. He grabbed Rumlow by the shirt front and heaved him to his feet one handed. "Let's try this again. The trigger. What is it and where is it?"_

 _The bound man turned his head slightly and spat blood. "You think you're going to save him? Is that it? You have no idea what he's capable of, what he's done. What he's become…"_

 _Steve pulled back his arm and let fly. Rumlow slammed back into the wall and crumbled. As he stepped forward, Nat took him by the arm and tugged. Not that she could stop him if he was determined but it was enough for him to turn and look at her. She made eye contact and held his gaze until he took a deep breath and nodded. She gave him a small smile and released his arm._

 _Rumlow still sat in a heap against the wall. He was breathing hard now, the arrogant smirk gone. "I'll tell you where to find the trigger and how to use it… I only wish I could be there to see your face when you learn the truth about your best buddy."_

 _Steve stood over the Hydra agent, "I'm not interested in your commentary."_

 _The bloodied man nodded, "You'll have to kill him, you know."_

 _"The trigger!"_

 _"Pierce's watch."_

 _Ox-ox-ox-ox-ox-ox_

 _Steve stood on the other side of the table with his arms crossed. He didn't trust himself, not with what Rumlow would be telling them. He already wanted to choke the life out of him. "Let's get this over with. Stick with the facts, Rumlow. You hear me? No commentary."_

 _"What's the procedure?" Nat was poised with pen in hand. "And don't forget who you're talking to, I know conditioning so I'll know if you're lying."_

 _Rumlow shook his head, "I have no reason to lie. It'll hurt you more to find him so I'll do what I can to help you out with that." He looked at Steve. "The watch is programmed with a series of tones in a certain sequence. That's *the stick*."_

 _Clint frowned, "The stick?"_

 _"Yeah, when he was conditioned, they set up the tones in conjunction with pain and fear. So you use the stick first. That disarms him mentally, emotionally, so you establish dominance even though you might never have actually caused him any harm."_

 _Steve clenched his jaw so tight it cracked._

 _"Once he's disarmed then you use *the carrot.* It's the second pin there on the watch. Hold up the watch and push that pin. There'll be a sequence of light flashes and strobes. Then you state who you are and your intent. I'm Natasha Romanoff and I'm your Controller, like that."_

 _"Why the carrot?" Clint asked._

 _"Clint…" Nat shook her head._

 _"Aww," Rumlow mouthed. "You don't want them to know about *the carrot*? But you know, don't you," he asked Nat. "Of course you do. Let me help you explain. Continuous punishment without reward isn't as effective a tool in conditioning, you see. You gotta pat the dog on the head every once in awhile."_

 _Steve took a step forward._

 _Clint stood up, "Steve, maybe you and I should go get some coffee. Nat can finish this."_

 _He shook his head. Clint looked at Nat. His expression saying this was not going to end well._

 _"Should I continue," Rumlow asked._

 _Nat looked over at the seething mass of super soldier. "I'd be cautious if I were you. Tread lightly."_

 _"Let the tones run their sequence. When he reacts appropriately then you flash the strobes. He gets a reward. I mean, you don't have to actually give him anything anymore. He's responding to the lights." Rumlow shrugged, "Then you set your own parameters. Depending on who his controller was at the time, the punishments and rewards would be different. His reward might be something as simple as food or water or sleep. Or whatever they wanted it to be… same with the pain. There's a lot of different ways you can hurt someone." He looked right into Steve's eyes._

 _Steve flew across the table so fast that neither Clint nor Nat had a chance to raise a hand to stop him. He wrapped his hand around Rumlow's throat. "You're not even human," he bit out. "I've seen evil in my time but this sickness has to be the worst."_

 _"I'm not the one that did this to him," Rumlow squeaked out._

 _"Hey Cap," Clint began, "This guy isn't worth getting your hands dirty on."_

 _Rumlow squirmed in his grip, "Zola was the one that figured out how to break him. He was obsessed. Not just with the project but with your friend."_

 _"Yeah, not a smart thing to say," Clint admonished. "You might want to shut the hell up."_

 _Steve released Rumlow with a push and he fell back into his chair._

 _Nat turned to Steve, "I want you to go take a walk. Right now. We need to get this done and I won't continue with you here, like this. Go get your shit together."_

 _Steve took one last look at Rumlow and headed for the door._

 _Rumlow looked at Natasha, "Was it something I said?"_

 _She leaned over the table and punched him in the mouth._

 _Ox-ox-ox-ox-ox-ox_

 _"Wow, this is more complicated than I thought," Clint commented._

 _"If it were easy, everyone would be doing it and then it wouldn't be cool anymore," Rumlow quipped._

 _"Man, shut the fuck up or I will kill you myself," Clint spat. "I have just about had enough of this asshole."_

 _Nat closed her notebook, "You. Out too. Go find Steve and I'll finish this up and be out in a few."_

 _Clint took a deep calming breath and nodded. "You're right. I'll see you in a few."_

 _"Alright, finish it up, Rumlow. Is there anything else we need to know about the process?"_

 _"Hm. Well, they knew that it would take more than one person to handle the Asset so they gave him a series of handlers and one controller. The controller had total access, total power. He could then assign handlers specific tasks and give them certain controls. That way they never had to worry about him falling into the wrong hands. They really got paranoid about SHIELD at one point. They thought someone found out who he was and were concerned about a rescue attempt. I don't know exactly. It was before my time."_

 _"Huh. They certainly seemed to put a lot of value on him." There could only be a couple of reasons for that, neither good._

 _Rumlow chuckled. "If you only knew why."_

 _She started gathering her things._

 _"You don't want to know why?"_

 _"Oh, I thought you were going to be using that as some sort of ploy. Do you intend to actually tell me?"_

 _"Like I said, the truth hurts." The man looked pleased with himself. "Zola kept a list of Barnes kills."_

 _"Is that all you got? I've already seen the files."_

 _He looked at her speculatively. "Then you know about Stark?"_

 _"I know." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Do better."_

 _He paused then nodded. "There were things that they didn't log. Things even Hydra didn't want to take credit for."_

 _"Such as?"_

 _He shrugged. "There's no proof, mind you. But Pierce told me that they had sent the Asset to Dallas… in '63."_

 _Nat's eyes widened slightly. Oh, hell no._

 _"There were other assignments too. Off the books, so to speak."_

 _"These other assignments… weren't logged anywhere?"_

 _"Not to my knowledge, no. But there were other kinds of detailed files. Zola was a real freak. He kept detailed logs of everything he did. Everything. A lot of it is on video. He practically dissected the guy at one point, trying to figure out why he couldn't replicate the results. There's some brutal stuff…all in technicolor."_

 _"I see." She nodded. "That it?"_

 _"Yeah, that's about it."_

 _Nat walked over to the one way glass and tapped on it._

 _Rumlow looked at her curiously. Then she picked up her notebook and pen. Nat stepped around the table and glanced up. The little red light on the camera went dark. She uncapped her pen…. and drove it into Rumlow's eye socket. He rocked back then pitched forward onto the table._

 _She walked out and closed the door behind her._


	4. Chapter 4

The Asset had been running all day. He'd managed to keep up a decent pace but late in the afternoon he had started to lag. Now as the sun set, he was walking at what he estimated to be three miles an hour. Unacceptable. He needed rest and sustenance.

He turned back to the way he came and just listened. Nothing. It was odd that he hadn't caught sight of the soldier at all since the clearing. Could it be that the missile had actually taken him out? What else could it be? The American soldier was dead. The idea made him strangely uneasy. He had this crazy urge to go back to the clearing to check on him. Now that truly was insanity. _Your name is James Buchanan Barnes._ _Bucky, wait up!_

James Buchanan Barnes was the man in the army uniform that he'd seen at the museum. While he didn't dispute that he could have once been that man, it certainly wasn't him now. Any memories of his past life were to be excised. Hydra had been very clear and thorough on that point. He wasn't entirely sure why but it wasn't his place to question. That man, whoever he had been, was long dead. He looked back towards the clearing one last time.

Down the next ridge, the Asset came upon what looked like an old machining factory. It had obviously been closed for some time, if not abandoned. He held back until he was sure it was deserted. There were a couple of lights that appeared to be functional so there was still power to the building but no security. He checked twice for cameras, motion detectors, audio detectors, and found nothing. He circled the location three more times before he decided it would be safe enough to hole up for the night. The temperature was already plunging, he was glad for the respite. He turned and looked back once again. There was an emotion there, it pressed against his chest. He wasn't sure but he thought it might be sadness.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Steve hobbled slowly along. Was there really any point? There was no telling how far Bucky had gotten by now and if he chose to keep moving after dark, well… Steve watched his breath curl outwards. It was getting cold. With any luck his former friend would hunker down for the night. It might buy him the time he needed to catch up to him. He started a light jog. His leg protested but he ignored it and kept moving. If they lost him this time, they might not find him before Hydra. The Winter Soldier was a ghost but they knew all his haunts.

Steve picked up speed. He'd never hated anyone in his life but the anger he felt for the ones responsible for what had happened to Bucky sharpened dangerously. Of course, the ones truly responsible were all dead now. While the Hydra of this era was just as culpable, they weren't the ones that made his mind twist darkly. Zola. The man's wheedling tone as he'd casually explained what they'd done, made him want to hurt someone… badly. He couldn't even bear to finish going through all the files. He'd left that to Natasha. He'd seen enough.

 _Fade to Flashback_

 _"Coronal Zeiss?" The small bespectacled man peered into the office._

 _"Yes, yes, come in, Doctor. Close the door." Zeiss motioned for the man to take a seat. He really didn't like the little weasel-like scientist. What was the American vernacular? Ah yes, he gave him the creeps._

 _"I was just running a few projections on the subject," Zola smiled. "I think you will find them most impressive."_

 _The coronal leaned back in his chair. "I doubt that."_

 _Zola frowned, "I don't understand. He's outstanding. Better than we could have hoped." Zeiss had never appreciated his project. Never understood what Herr Schmidt had been trying to accomplish._

 _"And he is the enemy." Zeiss shook his head, "Doctor, you haven't given us a weapon. You've given the Allies another Captain America."_

 _"That's not true!" Zola huffed. "He has a strong personality but we have made inroads. He's been sent out successfully several times." His cheeks grew red._

 _"Inroads," the Coronal scoffed. "I wouldn't trust him farther than I can throw him. Tell me, did you send him out independently or was he on a leash?"_

 _"He hasn't been on a solo mission yet, no. His reaction to former allies has been a bit…spotty."_

 _"So I've heard. You've been adjusting his loyalties for nearly three years. I understand some of our best people have worked on him and yet a week ago he killed three guards and a technician. How many is that in total since the project began?"_

 _"Acceptable casualties. At least we know he has no real aversion to killing," Zola pursed his lips in a snit._

 _"Yes. Now if you could just get him to kill the right people, it would be gratifying." Zeiss shook his head._

 _"Sir, may I speak frankly…" Zola began._

 _"No, Doctor Zola, you may not. This isn't a discussion, not this time. I have other projects that I am overseeing. Ones that I think have more chance for success than your pet monster. He is taking up valuable resources that could be put to use elsewhere."_

 _"I oversee most of the project myself…"_

 _"I'm not just talking about facilities and staff," Zeiss interrupted. "I'm talking about the resources that went into outfitting him with an indestructible arm. You know how rare Vibranum is and its being wasted on him." Zeiss threw his hands up. Why the little man was so invested in Asset Seventeen he didn't know but he knew he didn't like it._

 _"You've seen what he can do with that arm. How his enhanced constitution allows him to wield it."_

 _"Yes, yes, his bones actually fused to it. It's a very impressive weapon, that again, you have given to the enemy. But he won't be needing it, if he's dead. Now will he?"_

 _"Sir. If you could just give me a little more time. You've seen what he's capable of…"_

 _The Coronal sighed, "His abilities aren't the issue. You're not hearing me. The issue is being able to use him confidently. He is unstable. The conditioning seems to work and then it doesn't… and we're back to him killing his handlers."_

 _"A few weeks to come up with a solution is all I ask, Sir."_

 _"You've had three years. Believe me when I say that I don't discount his abilities. It's because of what he's capable of, that he can't, under any circumstances, be allowed to return to our enemy. This makes us look bad, Zola. We need to be able to show proof of concept if the program is to continue and you can't seem to get one assassin under control. Has the new serum shown any viability?"_

 _Zola looked at the wall, "Subjects one through thirty eight have all expired."_

 _"Son of a bitch. Shut it down. Terminate the asset and find a new project or I'll find one for you."_

 _o-o-o-o-o-o-o_

 _Zola walked slowly down the hall. How dare he? He had worked side by side with Schmidt himself and this second rate pencil pusher was going to shut him down? Ha! He wasn't just going to allow him to pull the plug on his favorite subject. He had years invested in the project and Asset Seventeen was proof of concept. If he could only figure out why the former Sergeant had survived when all the others died… He'd done about everything he could think of, save dissecting the man, and still had no answer. Still, he had friends in high places. The Coronal would soon find that out._

 _Something was nagging at him. Something that Zeiss had said. The conditioning seemed to work and then it didn't… why was it that it never seemed to stick? He'd never heard of someone going through such conditioning only to have it work then fail over and over again. Either it stuck or the subject died from the trauma, that's how it worked. He was missing something. Maybe, it was the something that would turn this project around._

 _The last specialists that they had sent to work on the Asset had been especially brutal in their techniques. They employed both a healthy dose of physical torture as well as more horrific forms of psychological pressure. He had been glad for the Asset's enhanced constitution or it would have surely killed him. He had been compliant the longest after those sessions, not that surprising. But previous techniques had also brought the Asset to heel… for awhile._

 _They'd send him out immediately after his body healed and he would perform well. The Asset was an extraordinary weapon to watch in action. He'd really thought that it would hold that time. But a few months later the Asset was again asserting his will. He just didn't understand. How much torture could a mind take before he just snap… Zola drew in a sharp breath. Oh my. OH MY. Could it be that simple? It would explain a lot, wouldn't it._

 _He had first discovered the enhanced healing after they had attached the arm. No one was really sure if the arm would even take, but Zola had assured his superiors that Sergeant Barnes was the success that they had been waiting for. He knew it the moment he saw him on the causeway next to his red, white, and blue friend. Barnes should have been dead and yet there he was, up and moving. His success!_

 _Of course, there was nothing that could be done about it then. But the Sergeant's fortuitous fall from the train had given him a second chance. He'd radioed his contact as soon as he saw from the cameras what had happened. He told his contact to get in touch with the Russians immediately. They needed to find Barnes. And find him, they did._

 _All things considered, he was in remarkable shape. At the time, he'd assumed that the serum had kept the fall from damaging Barnes too badly. He should have known there was more to it. The man's body had still been in flux at the time, still changing. But he had been so caught up with the idea that his serum had worked, that he'd beaten Erskine at his own game that he didn't think it through. He proceeded with the placement of the arm unaware._

 _Hydra in Russia had been working on a cyborg project for years and had just what he needed. What was surprising was just how well man and machine had merged. It was then that he discovered how far the serum had gone. Barne's bones and nerves had literally fused to the metal. His skin had grown up and around the connection points like the prosthetic was part of him. He started doing other procedures and was ecstatic to learn of the Asset's less obvious enhancements. You broke his bones and they healed without a trace of injury. You cut him and there was never a scar. Never._

 _It wasn't magic though. He healed very quickly and thoroughly but not miraculously. So it never occurred to him that the Asset's brain might also be able to heal from whatever they did to him. Physically or psychologically. But that would explain why the techniques worked for a period of time then he would relapse. Whatever they did to him, his mind would put itself back together. Little by little, piece by piece._

 _Zola was giddy. If you could properly define the problem then you could devise a solution. Now he knew that the problem wasn't that the brainwashing techniques didn't work, it was that they weren't permanent. The conditioning was taking its toll on the man, he was responsive… just not reliably. Super soldier or not, he would break at some point. Over the long term, his brain would just stop… fighting. But how long would that take? Five more years? Ten? He didn't have time to wait._

 _Up until this point, they had used standard protocols in applying conditioning because in a normal situation any more would kill the subject or at least render him drooling on his shirt for the rest of his life. Even a super soldier had limits. But what if by doing this, they were allowing some small vestige of Barne's sense of self to remain and that was why the conditioning failed again and again? As his brain healed, it was able to latch on to whatever bit of his identity was left and rebuild the man._

 _The solution was simple. Now that he realized that Barne's brain was capable of healing from extraordinary trauma like the rest of his body, he thought he had just the thing. He would burn out every last bit of James Barnes' soul._

 _"You want to do what?"_

 _"I want to lobotomize him with high voltage. I want to excise his entire identity until we have a clean slate to work with," Zola explained breathlessly, obviously excited by the plan._

 _"I can think of easier ways to kill that young man," Zeiss responded rather disgustedly. The scientist was clearly a sadist. He took far too much delight in the idea._

 _"If I'm right… and I am. We won't be killing him. We'll be creating him, don't you see! Whatever damage is done, it will heal. We can reeducate him in any manner we see fit as often as we need. There will be nothing left of the original man to return. It's far more humane than continued conditioning, that as you pointed out, has been ineffectual. And you lose nothing in letting me try."_

 _"Hm." He didn't need to like the scientist as long as he brought him results. And Hydra's lack of delivery on their promised version of Erskine's super soldier had been a continued embarrassment. "So it either 'kills him or he walks away the Hydra weapon you promised?... I think, I can live with that."_

 _Zola smiled._

The Asset worked his way deep into the maze of corridors and rooms. There was graffiti on the walls and damp spreading across the ceiling. But there was nothing on the floors to indicate trespassers. No one had been here in awhile.

On the second floor, he came upon a machinist's area. There were a couple of large presses and an engine left to rust but more importantly the room was defendable and had more than two escape routes. This was what he had been looking for, a tactical advantage.

He found a large steel barrel and grabbed it, tossing some old wood planks into it. Judging it to be far enough from the windows that no one would see the light, he lit it up. Standing close, the Asset unzipped his jacket to let the heat in, it felt good. His mechanical arm, of course, didn't feel the cold but the area where flesh merged to metal would start to ache when his arm got too frosty.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out a protein bar. It was the only one that he had left, he would have to think about resupplying himself tomorrow. But first, he needed to decide what he was going to do now that the situation had changed. Once his description was released by the police, Hydra would follow. This would be the closest they'd come in nearly two years. He had the American to thank for that.

He'd been careful to stay away from Hydra safe houses and the like, knowing that they would be waiting to reacquire him. That left him with petty crime to get the money and supplies that he needed. As it turned out, he was actually adept at stealing. He found he preferred it. If he was skillful no one even knew that anything was missing until he was long gone. There was no fighting, no screaming, and no killing. Except for the personnel sent to retrieve him, he hadn't killed anyone in nearly two years. He figured that was a record. It didn't make him feel better exactly but there was some sense of accomplishment.

Given that he wasn't supposed to operate autonomously, he thought that he was doing quite well in making his own decisions. Until the hot chocolate. That had been a bone headed mistake, plain and simple. It had almost cost him his freedom. But there had been something so… so… he didn't even know the word for it. He'd just decided that he wanted it so he went to the café to have it. It was a heady sensation, freedom.

Memories danced at the edge of his mind. Would it really be so bad to think about them? Yes. It would. Hydra might not be able to punish him but such thoughts only caused confusion. And confusion when you were on the run could cost you your life… or worse. But the American… _you've known me your whole life. You're my friend._

The little blonde boy, the one who was always following him, always telling him to wait up, he glanced up at the window. "Stevie. You're Stevie." _You've known me your whole life._ "I knew him," he murmured.

 _"Come on, Stevie. You can do it. I know you can." *I can't, Bucky. I can't.* "Take my hand. You don't have to be afraid."_ Unconsciously, the Asset reached out, grasping at the air. He blinked his eyes rapidly and the memory faded. Pierce really should have been more stringent with the wipes.

He walked over to the window and looked out to the North. The moon shone blue across the landscape. He should be glad the American was dead. Steve. His name was Steve. _I'm with you 'til the end of the line, pal._ His head was starting to hurt. He rubbed at his forehead. He needed to let the memories go before it got worse... and it would get much worse. But he couldn't. He found he didn't want to, not this time. He wanted to know. He wanted to understand. This man had been chasing him for two years. That had to mean something.

 _Your name is James Buchanan Barnes._ The Asset looked out into the distance and a small smile touched his lips, "I have a name."


End file.
